


awake and unafraid...

by ScreechTheMighty



Series: memories of mother [1]
Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Death, Foreshadowing, Gen, Origin Story, Pre-game timeline, Prophetic Dreams, but it's god of war so IDK what you're expecting, especially once god of war 5 hits, fantasy racism/xenophobia, generous use of headcanons, may deviate from canon, no beta reader we die like men, not mythologically accurate, tags to be updated as fic progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: In the wilderness of Jotunheim, Faye begins to find herself. (OR, the start of a series examining the origins of Laufey the Just.)
Series: memories of mother [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087475
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, if Santa Monica won't give us Faye Backstory Details, then I will.

Everyone who knew me before says the same thing.

_She used to be such a sweet girl._

That's how they remember me: as little Laufey, the baby of her family, laughing and playful, unmarked by sorrow. They remember me as I was before the storm, when my family still lived in Midgard, when I was too young to know what was happening around us. Too young to fully understand hatred and its consequences.

They act as if I died out there, sometimes; as if the burned, crying child brought back to Jotunheim by Týr himself were someone else entirely. In a way, I suppose they’re right. The Laufey they knew was left for dead in the summer mud, stripped away by lightning. And in her place…

I don't know, honestly.

I'm still trying to figure that out.

Blood dripped onto the fresh snow.

It was only a few drops at first, sporadic, like the dripping of morning dew from a leaf. As she watched, the drops increased, turning into a persistent _drip, drip, drip_ , like rain.

A part of her knew what she would see when she looked up. Maybe that was why she kept her gaze on the growing circle of red. As long as she was looking at that, she wouldn't have to look up, wouldn't have to know the truth…

But she had to look up. She had no other choice.

There was a hand hanging from the travel gate.

A man's right hand, calloused and worn, severed midway up the forearm, tied at the wrist. Next to it hung a cloth bag, just within reach. Its contents saturated the fabric with crimson, enough that it, too, was on the verge of dripping into the snow. She stepped forward, her footfalls somehow soundless, reached up, took the bag. Blood stained her fingers as she opened it.

Eyes. Two sets. Different colors. She didn't know whose. One eye was strangely cracked, with something starting to poke out. The beginnings of a plant. As if it were a strangely shaped seed and not…

Something dripped onto her forehead, trickling down into her eye. She went to wipe it away, but only smeared more blood across her face. Another drop. Another. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. She should run. She knew she should. Another drop. It was starting to rain. She had to leave. She couldn't leave.

If it was raining, why was the sky still so clear?

She looked up.

There were bodies hanging from the travel gate. Blood continued to fall like rain. All around her, the ravens feasted.

The ground gave way beneath her but _just_ before she landed…

“ _LAUFEY!_ ”

Faye hit the floor with a solid thud.

Someone had tipped the bed. _Someone_ had _tipped over her bed._ If she weren’t so relieved at being jarred from the dream, she’d be _livid._ “Get _up_ ,” complained another female voice. “I helped with the horses yesterday, it's your turn!”

Never mind. She was still livid.

“And you couldn’t just _wake me normally?_ ” Faye turned to glare at the other woman. She had to push her hair out of her face to get the full effect; it was coming out of its braids in a tangled mess. Just one more thing to deal with. "You didn't have to throw me onto the floor, Guðrún."

"I _tried._ You wouldn't wake up." The other giantess's eyes narrowed—first in suspicion, then with concern. "Were you dreaming again?"

"No." The lie was instinctive; it was none of Guðrún's business if she was, and besides that, she didn't want to talk about it. She _especially_ didn't want to be dragged into another conversation with Yrsa. "My...arm was hurting me again. It kept me up last night."

Bad lie, _bad_ lie. Now Guðrún looked more concerned than ever. "You really need to take it easy with the archery if it's…"

" _Okay,_ mother, I'll keep that in mind." Faye untangled herself from her blankets. The first thing she did when she was on her feet was check on her family's statues. Fortunately, they were still upright. "I'll see to the damn horses since it's so important to you."

Faye half-expected Guðrún to try and follow her, but she didn't, for once. She'd always been so nosy when they were children; maybe she was _finally_ growing out of it.

As much as Faye hated being woken up so damned rudely, she didn’t mind the prospect of tending to the horses. They didn't ask so many questions, and they were, for the most part, better-behaved than the people around her.

Well. Except for Bergen. Bergen was an asshole. Rurik always liked to claim his horses were direct descendants of Svaðilfari, Hrimthur’s own stallion. _So fast, you’d swear they had extra legs_ , he said. Faye didn’t know how true that was, but _Bergen_ sure believed it. All the spoiling and praise made him haughty, almost impossible to deal with. And, as always, the stallion was first at the gate and _far_ too impatient for his own good.

“ _Move_ ,” Faye sighed. The horse stared her down, head bobbing. She could feel his impatience, his almost _pompous_ smugness. She hadn’t know horses could _be_ smug until she met Bergen. “I can’t feed you if you don’t get out of the way, you big oaf. _Move._ ”

Bergen snorted disapprovingly, but got out of the way. She was the only one in the house he couldn’t bully and he knew it. Everyone else caved out of fear or a general unwillingness to deal with his attitude. But Faye? Faye had seen much more terrifying things than a horse too spoiled by his owner to know how to behave.

She made sure the horses were fed and watered, and then lingered outside with the mares. She stayed so long at the fence, watching the forest, that one of them, Hildur, came over to see why she was still there. “I’m okay,” Faye said distantly as the horse nuzzled her cheek. “I’m all right.”

They’d practically grown up together, the two of them. Hildur had been born not too long after Faye had come to live with Rurik and Yrsa. She was much older now, body changed from foaling, wiser but no less sweet and even-tempered.

“It must be nice being a horse,” Faye said idly as she watched the trees swaying in the wind. “You don’t have to deal with strange dreams and Guðrún’s pestering.” Or Yrsa trying to get her to be a seer. Or the way people looked at her sometimes when they realized what she’d lived through. Or the exhausting sense of helplessness whenever more of her people came back to Jotunheim, their lives shattered by the Æsir.

_Must be nice._

Faye distantly heard a voice calling her name. It was Rurik; breakfast must have been ready. “Well, wish me luck,” Faye sighed, gently patting Hildur’s neck. The horse snorted in response.

Maybe the day would improve from there.

She could only hope.

I’m not ungrateful. I’m really not.

I didn’t have much left in the way of extended family, and the ones left had their own mouths to feed. Yrsa and Rurik taking me in, even though they were expecting Guðrún, was an act of kindness I can never fully repay.

But they could never replace my family. They’ve never tried, to be fair, but sometimes it hits me that they’re gone—my mother, my father, my brothers and sisters. They’re gone and I’m living on a farm with a horse breeder and a seer who wants me to follow her own path. She keeps insisting I have natural talent, that I can’t let it go to waste.

If I have such natural talent, then why couldn’t I see what was coming for us?

Why couldn’t I save them?

“You got to the horses late this morning.”

She should have expected that Rurik would notice. The man lived his life with startling rigidity—same tasks, same time, same days. He was never excessively strict about others following his routine, but he _did_ still notice deviance from the routine. She'd just hoped that maybe he wouldn't comment. "I forgot it was my day," Faye said. That was only partially a lie. She _had_ forgotten, but even if she hadn't, the dream probably wouldn't have let her go. "It wasn't that long. Bergen can afford to wait a bit, the brat…"

"Don't you go antagonizing my prize stallion, girl."

" _He_ antagonizes _me._ " And everyone else, but not everyone else was as in-tune with animals as she was. They only saw his irritating behavior, not his irritating attitude. "Can I borrow Hilfur later? I was going to go out hunting."

Yrsa spoke up before Rurik could reply: "Our stores are fine. You don't need to go hunting."

Faye's eyes narrowed. The seer's tone was even, not accusatory or otherwise confrontational, so it _could_ have just been a simple reminder. _Or_ she could have suspected something. Or been _told_ something. "Can't hurt to have a little extra," Faye said, trying to keep her tone even as well. Her gaze slid to Guðrún, searching for any signs of betrayal. "Winter's coming soon and I have a feeling it's going to be a cold one."

Yrsa shook her head. "I was hoping to talk to you."

_Guðrún, you bitch, what did you say to her?!_ The other giantess was more focused on her food than the conversation, clearly uncomfortable with where this was going. Faye just couldn't tell if it was an admission of guilt or if she was bracing herself for an argument. This line of conversation _always_ ended in an argument. "Will someone die if we don't talk?" Faye said.

Yrsa sighed. "Laufey…"

"I take that as a _no_." She stood up. "I'll go on foot."

" _Laufey_."

That tone might have worked on Faye as a child, but not so much now. She was of age; even if she still lived in the house and helped with the chores, they couldn't _make_ her do anything. And they certainly couldn't stop her from leaving, half-finished plate or not.

Faye grabbed her bow and cloak, almost forgetting her bag in her eagerness to leave but remembering at the last second. She only got halfway down the road before she heard Rurik calling her name. Had it been anyone else, she would have kept walking, but he was at _least_ willing to hear her out. Most of the time.

"Are we really such bad company that you feel the need to leave so often?" he said when he caught up.

Faye sighed. "No." She couldn't quite look Rurik in the eyes when she turned around; she wasn't sure what she'd see there. Her gaze wandered anywhere else on his age-worn face—strong nose, black hair shot through with grey, carefully maintained beard. "I just need to think."

_And I can't think with your wife **pestering** me._ She thought about saying it, but it would be rude. Besides that, her feelings were well-known, _had_ been well-known for some time (not that it stopped Yrsa from constantly badgering her about it anyways). No need to repeat herself.

Rurik sighed heavily and put his hands on his hips. "She's trying to help," he said quietly. "You can't avoid this forever, Laufey. I'm not talking about natural talent or doing what's best for our people. Bottling those things up...it's not good for _you_."

At least he wasn’t lecturing her about duty. "There's a difference between bottling it up and not doing anything about them," she said carefully. It was something she'd tried to explain before, but seeing how the matter kept coming up, she must not have been successful the first dozen or so times. "I have my journals. That's good enough for me. We're only in this mess because some oaf thought that chasing every vision of the future he saw was a good thing." It felt perverse, comparing their seers to the fierce, obsessive drive of the Bági Ulfs up in Asgard, but it was how she felt on the matter. She wasn't going to lie about it. "Nothing good comes from knowing the future. I might not have a choice in seeing it, but I do have a choice in how I respond. And I choose to let things run their course."

Rurik nodded. She finally risked meeting his eyes then. They were storm grey, thoughtful when they weren't bright and brash. He'd been a fierce warrior once, by all accounts; now whatever fierceness was left in him had been tempered by old age, the maturity that came with fatherhood, and the deep sorrow felt by all giants. "I understand," he said, and she believed it. "You can take Hilfur if you promise you'll be back for supper."

So much for avoiding everyone the _entire_ day, but… "All right, deal," Faye responded. "Thank you."

Rurik waved her off. "Just don't get hurt. The house would be boring without you."

It was a strange sort of compliment, to be sure, and possibly not even _meant_ to be complimentary. But she'd take it.

Faye could have gone right to the hunt, but she didn't. She diverted away from her usual places, following a river to a small cave in the hills. It was the kind of place a person could reliably go to be alone. Faye settled down near the mouth of the cave, letting Hilfur graze not too far away, and pulled one of her journals out of her bag. She took the time first to skim through the pages. Dreams were fickle things; even the ones she remembered so vividly upon awakening could slip from her mind after a day or so, hence the journal. She might not have wanted to be a seer, or to do anything about the things she saw, but she couldn't bring herself to forget, either.

There was nothing like last night's dream recorded there. Even the most grotesque and bloody of her visions didn't show that severed hand, those plucked eyes, the bodies hanging from the travel gate the way mortals hung their offerings to the gods. She could guess at the meaning of the ravens—they only ever meant one thing, that the so-called High One still lived to torment her people—but as for the rest of it…

Faye shook her head. No. Didn't matter. She wasn't here to read into things. Just to record them.

The dream was committed to the page with as much detail as her artistic talents could provide, with a few scribbled notes next to them to clarify anything a drawing could not capture. Once it was done, she shut the journal and put it back in her bag. There. Everything was recorded. No reason to worry about it anymore.

That was what she told herself, at least. It wasn't so easy in reality.

Faye took the time to just sit, breathing in the cool air, watching the clouds go by. Jotunheim was beautiful, that much was undeniable. It was cold, with brief summers and harsh winters, but there was a wildness about it that couldn't be found in other realms. It was that quality that she loved most, and yet…

Tamer though it was, and yet at the same time much more dangerous than her people's homeland, Faye couldn't help missing Midgard sometimes.

Maybe missing was the wrong word. It was probably more accurate to say that she resented having it ripped from her as it had been.

She doubted anyone could blame her for that.

I’ve thought about going back. Living in the mountains, maybe, where many of my people still live. I know Jotunheim is safer, that I’d have to start over, but it’s a tempting thought. I didn’t have any choice as a child—there was no one in Midgard who could take me in—but I have one now. Abandoning the place that was once my home feels like letting him win.

But can I really go back there when my family isn’t there?

Will the dangers of Midgard be bearable without them?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates, I'm pantsing this one really bad (translation: only a basic idea of where I'm going with it and no real outline), so there were a few false starts. And also, I had Mimir Brain Rot for a hot second.

She had planned on catching a few rabbits and taking the longest, slowest route home possible—just enough done to make it seem like she had _actually_ gone hunting and not just left to avoid speaking to anyone at home. She succeeded in the first part, but as she was going home…

Hildur’s sudden skittish behavior was her first clue. The sudden, piercing scream she heard up the road was the second.

Faye froze, her eyes scanning the surroundings for danger. There were sharp stabs of panic in the air; at first, she couldn’t tell where they were coming from, but a second shout of terror quickly clued her in. She didn’t think, just _acted_ , wheeling Hildur around and racing towards the sound of the shouting. She arrived in time to see a man attempting to beat back a snarling, mangy wolf.

It was rabid. It must have been. Even from a distance, Faye could feel how shattered its mind was. The fact that it was behaving so aggressively in the middle of the day, and that it didn’t seem to have a pack nearby, only made that suspicion a certainty.

Faye could only get so close before Hildur stopped; fortunately, though, it was close enough that a bow shot was almost guaranteed. She didn’t like killing wolves. She preferred to avoid their known hunting territories, leave them in peace and let them live their lives. But this beast was suffering, and she couldn’t let the stranger, whoever he was, get hurt.

It only took her one shot.

Hildur was still hesitant to approach, so Faye had to dismount and run over to check on the stranger, trusting that the horse wouldn’t wander too far. “Are you all right?” she called as she approached.

The stranger looked up. His hazel eyes were still wide with panic—something about the terror in them seemed to extend beyond the fear that naturally came with having been attacked by a wolf. “It’s all right,” Faye said gently. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

The man kept staring. It wasn’t until he looked directly at her, dislodging some of the hair from his face, that Faye saw the branching scar running up his face and neck, blinding one eye as it went.

_Ah._ That explained it.

“You’re home now, brother,” Faye said gently. “It was just a wolf. Did he bite you?”

“…n-no. No, I don’t think so.” The man finally looked away from her, checking his arms. She could see where teeth had tried to sink into a leather bracer, but hadn’t managed to draw blood. “I think I’m lost.”

“That’s all right. Where are you going?”

It was clear from the distress on the man’s face that he was struggling to remember. Faye knew that kind of confusion wasn’t uncommon in those who managed to survive a strike from Mjolnir. If the placement of this man’s scar was any indication, he probably had to struggle more than most. “I don’t live very far from here,” Faye tried instead. “Why don’t you come with me and we can figure this out?”

“…okay. Okay.”

His entire body was trembling to the point that Faye was worried he might not make the trip back. She ended up letting him ride Hildur, leading the animal back to the house with the rabbits and dead wolf strapped to her back. Walking back made her late for supper; on the plus side, the sight of the still-rattled stranger with her was a powerful deterrent against a possible lecture. The others quickly rushed him inside and sat him down with a bowl of soup.

The food, combined with being inside and out of the cold, seemed to help; while he still couldn’t remember where he was going, he was at least able to give a name (Óláfr). He had come from Midgard recently. He knew he was going _somewhere_ , but not where, and the only mention of where he was staying was _in the mountains_. Even that was unclear—he could have been mixing up his home back in Midgard with where he was staying now. It was quickly agreed that he should stay with them for the night, and in the morning they would go into town to see if anyone was missing him.

“Poor man,” Guðrún whispered as she and Faye cleaned up after dinner. He was out of earshot, but it still didn’t feel right speaking openly about him. “What do you think is the matter?”

“Could be the lightning. Could be…” Faye paused, trying to think of how best to explain it. How _could_ she explain it to someone who hadn’t lived it? “The mind gets…stuck sometimes. Confused. Everything blends together. I think he’s still too close to it for his mind to have freed himself.”

For a moment, Faye was worried Guðrún would start asking questions. Fortunately, she didn’t, instead returning to their chores without another word.

Faye didn’t sleep well that night. Not because of the presence of a stranger in the house (Óláfr fell asleep quickly and deeply, no threat to anyone) and not because the presence of a stranger forced her to share a bed with Guðrún (she’d shared a bed with one of her sisters growing up, so it was nothing new to her). It was the memory of Óláfr’s scar, the blank and panicked look in his eyes, the thought that she had once worn that look as well.

The persistent, terrifying thought that the Aesir were killing more than their bodies. They were killing their spirits as well.

Maybe that was the most dangerous part.

* * *

Usually when I dream of thunder, it’s an ill omen. The storms only ever mean one thing: danger, the threat of our total annihilation, of my own death at the end of Mjolnir.

But sometimes—very rarely—the storm stays in the distance. It does not rumble with thunder, that low sound of death; I only see lightning, arching from cloud to cloud. I know I should be afraid, but I’m not. It doesn’t feel like anything of Asgard, or of _any_ realm I know. It feels like it came from far away, from the sort of realms seem only in Týr’s furthest travels. While I do not see them clearly, I get the impression of spears, of shields coated in bronze. I can taste something strange in the air—something sharp and fermented, like mead, but no mead made in Midgard or Jotunheim.

Sometimes, I wake up tasting apples.

* * *

Faye was the first to rise that day.

Usually, she would take advantage of the time alone, rest with her own thoughts. Today, it felt too quiet, and the vague details of her dream were too troublesome to let her rest, so she went outside to get some air.

The morning looked clear, at least, so their trip wouldn’t be interrupted by ill weather. That was about the only good thing at the moment. She felt nauseous. Her arm ached, and the muscles in her hand felt stiff. Her mind kept replaying the memory of Óláfr's scar and his blinded eye. Of eyes in bags and feasting ravens.

Faye clenched and relaxed a fist until it felt like she had some control over it again. When she turned back around to face the house, Óláfr was there, sitting on the front porch. He looked almost like a ghost. "I think I'm staying with my sister," he said as she approached. His eyes seemed clearer today, though his speech was still hesitant. "I just don't know where that is."

Faye forced herself to smile, despite the dread still lingering in her mind. "Don't worry. Between the five of us, I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out."

“You’re very kind.” His gaze wandered to her arm. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Faye hated hearing that normally. It was the last resort of people who didn’t know what else to say. But hearing it from someone who had lived the same thing…

“I’m all right,” she said, though she wasn’t sure that was true at all. “It’s an old wound.”

“Hmm.” Óláfr gently rubbed his own scar. The burn still looked fresh, painful. It looked like that side of his face was sluggish as well—when he spoke, he spoke with a slight drawl due to one side of his mouth moving slowly. “That was a good shot. With the wolf.”

“Thank you.” Faye couldn’t help feeling pleased by the praise. She’d worked _hard_ on her archery skills—her combat skills in general, to be fair, but she’d struggled more with archery due to her arm injury. The extra effort made success feel all the sweeter. “I’m just glad I was there to help.”

“So I am. I swear, I’m not usually so helpless.” Óláfr smiled sheepishly. “I just…get confused easily these days. I wasn’t even sure where I was.”

“It's all right. I understand.” And she really did. She’d woken up so many times when she first returned to Jotunheim, expecting to be home and wandering around the grounds of her new house, calling for her parents. "You'll get used to things. Just...give it time."

Óláfr looked doubtful, but also too polite to argue with her. Instead, he looked out over the fields, and the horses nearby. "...does it feel safer here?" he asked finally.

_Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes it does, and that's the problem, because it's not fair that I'm safe and so many still aren't…_

"Yes," Faye said aloud. "It does. But you might have to give that sometimes, too."

Better a simple and optimistic half-lie, she decided, than the more complicated truth. He'd figure it out on his own eventually, and it wasn't what he needed to hear right now. And who knew? Maybe things would be easier for him. Maybe he would actually adjust, unlike her.

_Lucky bastard._

"I'm going to make breakfast. Do you want to help? Sometimes it helps to keep the hands busy."

Óláfr agreed. There was only so much he could do--it became very clear over the course of the cooking that the tremor in his hands was a constant, probably something to do with his lightning strike being so fresh. But he did his best, and Faye made sure to only assign him tasks he could reasonably accomplish. Rurik was up next, then Yrsa, and finally Guðrún. She was still a bit sluggish, but seemed eager to go into town, even if the circumstances surrounding their trip were a bit... _depressing_.

_I just hope we can find whoever it is he's looking for._ The thought that maybe this sister of his wasn't alive anymore had crossed her mind; it wouldn't be the first time someone was convinced a lost loved one was safe in Jotunheim. Faye just refused to entertain the thought for very long. She really did want this to work out. For his sake. For _her_ sake, in some strange way.

Life was so full of heartbreaks already. It would be nice to have at least _one_ story end well.

It was, at least, a good sign that Óláfr could engage in conversation, both during breakfast and as they started the trip into town. His speech was sometimes halting, cutting off mid-sentence as his mind wandered before coming back to the present. But it was, at least, an improvement from yesterday.

Maybe that was a good omen.

Maybe.

* * *

I used to hate being alone.

Growing up as the youngest of five made silence completely foreign to me. I was never far from someone—my parents, my sisters, my brothers. Never alone, always surrounded by love.

That was the thing I remember most about their deaths. How quiet it was.

The rain had stopped by the time I could move. The animals had all fled. It was just me, me and the ruins and so many dead bodies. The only sound was my pulse, my racing heart letting me know I was still alive. Somehow, still alive.

Yrsa told me once that my survival was a sign; that these things happen for a reason, and that it means I was spared for something.

She's had the good sense to only say that once.

* * *

_Going into town_ was always a gamble. Sometimes the hustle and bustle and noise was welcome; other times, she felt like she might drown in it. Faye could usually tell, but sometimes the desperate desire for quiet sneaked up on her, only making itself known when she was neck-deep in haggling and couldn't extract herself without making a scene. She was _fairly_ certain she would be okay today. _Fairly._ At least she could use Óláfr's presence as a motivator. _Someone_ had to be stable for him, and while the others were better contenders for stability, she was the only one who knew what he was going through. She felt honor-bound to help him.

_I **really** hope this isn’t a waste of our time._

They were early enough that the streets weren’t too crowded. “Tell me if you see anyone you know, all right?” Faye said gently.

“All right.” Óláfr was staying close to her, one hand loosely holding her cloak to avoid losing her. So far he seemed wary, but not afraid. “If I don’t…?”

“Word gets around fast, and Guðrún always seems to know a friend of a friend of someone’s cousin who lives down the river from someone else. Trust me. If people or gossip were rabbits, she’d almost be as good a hunter as Skaði.”

Óláfr laughed quietly at the description. “Well, I’m definitely in good hands, then.”

Faye certainly hoped so. There was one problem that might impede even Guðrún’s talents: a _lot_ of giants had been coming back to Jotunheim. There were still plenty in Midgard, to be fair, but if you were to ask _has anyone come through the travel gate recently,_ you’d get a lot of names. Óláfr would probably just be another face in the crowd. Even being marked by Thor the way they had wasn’t enough to set him apart.

Rage twisted in her gut at the thought. She breathed through it. _Not now. Getting angry won’t do you any good. Focus on helping. It’s all you can do._

Even one life helped made a difference. She really believed that. She repeated it to herself like a mantra whenever her frustration threatened to come back. For example: every time Yrsa tried to get her alone. Óláfr’s presence was doing a decent job warding her off.

Or it was, until Guðrún pulled him away to speak to someone. Faye tried to move towards Rurik, but…

“Any luck?”

_Damn it._ “No, nothing yet,” Faye said. _Say as little as possible._ That usually worked. “I’m sure Guðrún will find someone eventually. She’s good at that.”

Yrsa hummed. It was fairly clear that she wasn’t really interested in that. “How have you been?” she asked. “This hasn’t been too difficult for you, has it?”

Oh, _that’s_ how this was going to go. “Why would it be?” Faye said. She instinctively pretended to examine the wares of the nearest shopkeeper, and just as quickly realized how ridiculous that was as cover. They were trying to find Óláfr’s family. They weren’t _shopping._ “I’m helping someone. There’s nothing else to it.”

Yrsa didn’t look convinced. “You were just behaving strangely yesterday is all. I wanted to make sure Óláfr’s arrival hadn’t made anything worse.”

“I’m fine.” Faye kept walking. There was a part of her that felt guilty, that wanted to believe this was something Yrsa was asking in good faith. But they hadn’t always had the best relationship. It made trusting any line of questioning difficult.

_Or maybe you have a hard time trusting anyone and you’re just choosing to take it out on her?_

Faye gritted her teeth and sped up. _No, we’re not going to think about that. We’re helping Óláfr and then we’re getting out of here._

Yrsa caught up with her quickly. “I wasn’t going to ask,” she said briskly, “but I would _just_ like to know if you’ve dreamed of anything I should know about.”

“No,” Faye said immediately. Despite the immediacy of her answer, Faye had to admit she wasn’t sure. That was the one problem with not being especially well-versed in dream interpretation. The bodies on the travel bridge could have meant something. _Or_ it could have been stress from the way her people were being systematically murdered. And she certainly didn’t know what in Helheim was up with the apples. “I’d tell you if I thought you needed to know.” That she _was_ sure of. She might not want to be dragged into the life of a seer, but she wouldn’t deny important, potentially life-saving knowledge to Yrsa.

“…very well.” Yrsa started to walk away, then turned back to face Faye. “I am only trying to help. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Or, at least, Faye knew Yrsa _thought_ she was helping. It might be irritating, but she wouldn’t act like Yrsa was being malicious. That wouldn’t be fair. “Where’d Guðrún go, do you know?”

Yrsa looked around. “Not sure…maybe Rurik was watching her?”

Faye hoped so, because if he wasn’t, they might never find her again. If Faye didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn that Guðrún could turn invisible. And If Óláfr was with her…

“Mother!”

Oh, good, there she was. Guðrún raced over, shamelessly pushing past people to reach the two of them. Faye was worried, at first, until she saw that Guðrún’s face was more triumphant than worried. “I think I know where he was trying to go,” she said breathlessly. “You know that huntress who lives in the mountains, up the road from us? _That’s_ his sister.”

Faye perked up. “You mean Hallveig?” she asked eagerly.

“You know her?”

“Not _well,_ but well enough.” They’d run into each other a few times while hunting. Faye didn’t know her very well personally, but she knew that Hallveig was a tremendously good tracker. She had a sixth sense for animals. Some people said she’d been trained by Skaði herself, but Faye hadn’t been able to confirm that yet. “She doesn’t come into town much, so it’d be better if we…”

Faye froze at the sound of raised voices. The three of them looked at each other, then turned and ran towards the sound. Faye’s first thought was that something had happened with Óláfr. Maybe he’d panicked in the crowds, gotten hurt, thought he saw someone who wasn’t there…but when they reached the sound, it wasn’t Óláfr.

Well, it wasn’t Óláfr _directly._ He was trapped on the fringes of a shouting match between two men, frozen like a rabbit that could see its death coming, clearly on the verge of panicking. “Go,” Faye said quickly to Guðrún. “Get him out. _Hey!_ ” She pushed her way towards the argument. “Come on, you two, knock it off. You’re embarrassing yourselves.”

The men stopped yelling at each other, turning near-simultaneously to stare at her. One, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. The other, meanwhile, looked hostile. “I think you should mind your own business, _girl_ ,” he snapped. He stepped closer, clearly trying to be intimidating. “Go on with your business.”

Faye couldn’t hold back a smile. If he really thought he was going to scare her, he was severely mistaken. “You’re conducting _yours_ in public, which makes it everyone’s business,” she responded. “It’s a lovely day out, so why don’t you two just settle your differences like civilized folk and let the rest of us have some peace and quiet, yeah?”

The man took another step. If he leaned any closer, their noses would be touching. Faye was fairly certain he was making himself taller as he approached, which was frankly _adorable_. “Or you could _walk away_ , and leave me to my conversation.”

“ _Faye_.” The sound of her nickname—not her full name, which most people called her these days—jarred Faye from the conversation. The feeling of Guðrún’s hand on her arm fully brought her back to the big picture, the awareness of how the crowd’s eyes were on her now, and that Óláfr must have been removed from the situation. Guðrún looked at the man with a slightly forced, but still polite smile. “We have to go, remember?”

Faye didn’t want to. Backing down could be seen as weakness, and she felt like she was starting to get the upper hand on the conversation. But, she had to remind herself, this wasn’t a real fight; wasn’t a contest to be won. She’d accomplished her goal. Óláfr was safe and away from the conversation. There was no reason to stay in this conversation.

It was still a struggle to turn and walk away.

And she _damn near_ turned back around when she heard the man mutter something _very_ unkind under his breath. Probably thought she couldn’t understand dwarven, the bastard, but she knew a thing or two and her first instinct was to turn around and start swinging. Unfortunately for that urge, Guðrún was stronger than she looked and already chattering away as she dragged Faye through the crowd. “The good news is, we can probably make it to Hellveig’s and be home in time for dinner,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll just have to eat lunch on the road, but I don’t think that will be a problem for you.”

“Who _was_ that?” Faye asked darkly.

“Who knows? Who cares? Just some asshole. We’ve got other things to worry about.” Guðrún didn’t let go of her arm. Faye wanted to be angry, but her common sense acknowledged that the grip was probably the only thing keeping her from running back and resuming the conversation. “If he and his business partner want to start swinging at each other in the street, that’s their problem. Come on. We’ve got a fellow giant to save.”

She was right. Faye closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. There was someone who needed their help. She had to focus on that. No matter what slight that man might have thrown. It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

She certainly wasn’t going to be forgetting that man’s face any time soon, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> > Bági Ulfs - enemy of the wolf, one of the names for Odin. Had Faye use it for foreshadowing reasons.
> 
> Title is taken from "Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance (don't @ me).
> 
> I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty if you ever want to poke your head in and cry about Faye. For real, Faye info in GoW5, please, Cory, I'm begging you.


End file.
